


La Belle et la Bête

by ladyofthewoo



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofthewoo/pseuds/ladyofthewoo
Summary: A young woman goes searching for her missing father, only to find him in the clutches of a magical and frightening beast. At what lengths will she go for love? It is a tale as old as time, itself. Once Upon a Time (AU)





	1. Chapter One

The cold moon hid behind thick blankets of clouds, casting very little light upon the snowy earth. The old man peered through the tall pines, trying to catch a glimpse of the moon's whiteness. He was met with only darkness and branches. The forest was too thick; full of nettles and thorns. There was hardly a clearing in sight, save for the deer path the old man trudged upon.

The wind whipped through every branch, crying wickedly, and great gusts would splash particles of snow across the old man's face. Wrapping his scarf about his mouth and nose, he shuddered. He was getting too cold and his heart grew full of fear. His old body, though healthy and strong for his age, was tiring quickly, and if he did not find shelter soon, hypothermia would set in.

The deer path seemed to go on forever, yet he noticed that the land was steadily sloping upwards. He desperately hoped that he wasn't imagining the incline. For, he thought, if he could reach the top, he would be able to get his bearings and, perhaps, find his way home.

On and on, he walked. His worn, fur-lined coat, though once extravagant, could barely keep the cold at bay. His walking-staff seemed frozen to his hand. At long last, the old man could see the faint light of the moon reflecting off the snow up ahead. He was reaching a clearing; an end to the strangling forest. With all his remaining strength, the old man pushed himself into a mad dash for the beautiful light.

When he finally emerged, clutching his chest and breathing heavily, his bleary eyes could hardly take in the scene before him.

It was a bizarre castle.

A castle made of harsh metal and dark stone. Tarnished by time, the ancient castle was surrounded by black walls made of marble and dead, thorny vines. Deliriously, the old man stumbled towards its iron gates, headless to its threatening appearance.

As he entered into the courtyard, his eyes widened with disbelief. Though he had just left a seemingly dead, frozen landscape, he now appeared to be in a magical spring garden! The ground was not covered with snow, but with soft grass. Well-trimmed hedges and patches of snapdragons lined a rich, marble pathway. A pink-stoned fountain sat cheerily amongst the flowers, spewing frothy water into the air. Most magnificent and enchanting of all that he gazed upon, were the roses. All about him were great shrubs of tall, heady-scented, crimson roses. A warm breeze swept through their leaves, banishing his chill and making the winter seem a dim memory.

The old man dropped his staff and clasped his hands together. Surely, he thought, he must have died and he had passed through the very gates of heaven itself. Falling upon his knees to thank God, his vison blurred as he began to faint.

As his body slumped onto the grass, a dark figure materialized before him in a whirlwind of a strange, purple cloud. Though he could not see the stranger, the old man heard his cruel, high-pitched laughter, before falling into oblivious unconsciousness.

* * *

"Belle! Gods—Belle! Will you stop for one minute?!"

"Gaston," she snapped, neither turning around nor stopping. "My father has been missing for three days! I don't have time for this! I have to go find him!"

They were in the small stable by her house, where she was saddling her horse, Phillipe, and checking the harnesses. Gaston had arrived unannounced, and was leaning against a beam, his arms folded across his wide chest.

"Your father is fine," replied Gaston. "Probably took a scenic route or something." Stepping forward, he grabbed her upper arm and forcibly turned her around to face him. Her cornflower blue eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger.

"Let go of me!" she demanded. She struggled against him to free her arm, but was frustratingly unsuccessful. Gaston chuckled; compared to him, she was small and weak. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer to himself, until she was pressed intimately against him.

"You know, usually," he began in a casual tone. "When a girl's father leaves town, I'm the first one she tells." He paused, hoping she would catch onto his subtle implications. "I thought for sure when your father left you would call for me."

"And why would I do that?!" she spat back at him. He frowned. Apparently, he pictured this conversation going a different way.

"Because we could be  _alone_  together, of course," Gaston said slowly, as if he were addressing a child. "Your father is always hiding you away from me, but with him gone—well, we're free to do whatever we want."

His eyes lowered to her mouth and he gave a wolfish smile. Belle blinked up at him.

"If you think for one second that—" she stopped herself. From the look in his eyes and his grip on her arm, she could tell that arguing with him would get her nowhere. Gaston was both determined and foolish; a dangerous combination. She needed to keep her wits about her.

Gaston was considered by all to be the most handsome and respected man in the village. He was young, tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. He had rich, black hair that flopped charmingly across his forehead, and his eyes were the color of an artic sky; intense, blue, and cold. He had inherited a large estate with many acres of farmland. The gold in his purse never seemed to dwindle. If all these traits weren't enough, he was also considered the most skilled hunter in the county. His kills were always impressive, and the town displayed their stuffed carcasses in the community tavern as an honor to him.

Most girls would kill for a night in his arms.

Ever since Belle and her father had moved to the small country town, Gaston had singled her out for conquest. The residents of the small town seemed to be as equally entranced by her, for she quickly became the favorite subject for gossip.

_"Did you hear about the newcomers that just moved in?"_

_"They say he used to be a tradesman, but squandered his wealth!"_

_"Well, I heard that he's a travelling inventor on the run from debt collectors!"_

_"They speak so strangely! I don't know if we should allow foreigners in our town…"_

_"Have you seen his daughter? I heard that she's the most beautiful creature to ever walk God's green earth!"_

_"Yes, but I hear that she's mad as the Hatter, and a shut-in to boot!"_

_"Such a pity. Such a pity."_

Gaston, having heard such rumors of her loveliness, was the first visitor to their home on the outskirts of the city. They lived in a tiny white-washed cottage with a fence and stables. He first saw her while she was feeding chickens. One hand was tossing feed to the ground, and the other was holding an open book for her to read. Immediately, he knew he wanted her, for she fit her name well. Beauty.

She appeared small and delicate, yet her body was curved in a decidedly feminine, seductive way. Her hair was tied away from her face, and fell in curls of rich auburn. Her countenance held a classical beauty, with pale, creamy skin and serene wisdom in her laughing, blue eyes. He would have taken her that very moment, if her father had not emerged to greet him.

Maurice was a big man, though old in years. His hair and beard were grey, and his muscles only hinted at what they had once been. His eyes were a mere shadow of blue, compared to Belle's, yet they sparkled with intelligence.

Gaston had played, at the time, a friendly and harmless neighbor. He began visiting her house often, trying to catch her unaccompanied. On the rare occasion that she went into town, he followed her the whole way. At first, Belle was flattered by his attentions, but as she came to know his character, these sentiments quickly turned into annoyance. He was constantly trying to woo her with bragging and crude remarks. These attempts seemed to her chauvinist, disrespectful, and infantile; traits she could never love in a man.

One day, when she was headed to market, he followed her down an alleyway and cornered her. When she told him to let her pass, he crushed his mouth into hers. The unwanted kiss was dominant, painful, and possessive. When he released her, she found herself holding back tears and shaking in anger. Speechless, she had looked up into his handsome face and thought he was the ugliest man in the world.

"Come on, little girl," he had said in a low, predatory voice. "I know you want it."

With her fists clenched in defiance, she used all her strength to push him away and hurry off to market. She could hear him laughing, as though terribly amused.

"You can't tease me forever, Belle!" he had called after her. "One of these days I will run out of patience!"

It appeared that day was today. His hold on her wrist tightened, forming bruises on her otherwise flawless skin. Thinking quickly, she put on a charming smile and allowed a thoughtless giggle to escape her mouth.

"Oh Gaston," she said, ducking down her head and looking up through her eyelashes. "You're right, of course! Without my father, we're free to do as we please… how silly of me not to think of calling you!"

At this, Gaston released his grip on her wrist, trailed his hands up her arms, and settled them upon her shoulders. She, in turn, held his wrists in her hands and smiled coyly up at him.

"Silly indeed, little girl," he nearly purred. "That's why you need a big, strong man like me to help you think you of such things."

She sighed at his words. Bending down, he lowered his head to kiss her when, using her grip on his wrists as leverage, Belle thrust her knee sharply into his groin. Gaston bellowed in shock and pain, as he fell to the ground like a sack of flour.

Without a word, Belle wrapped her cloak about her and quickly climbed onto the large horse.

"Y-you—!" Gaston sputtered angrily. "Bitch!"

Belle simply smiled at him, gave Phillipe a quick kick, and sped off into the sunset.

* * *

Maurice opened his eyes in darkness. He was lying on a cold, stone floor with clumps of moldy straw strewn about. There was no source of light anywhere, and he wondered, for a moment, if his eyes were actually working at all.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice sounding weak.

No answer.

Sitting himself up, Maurice felt panic well up in his chest. What was he to do if he were alone in this dark place?

"Hello?" he called out again, desperately.

A laugh.

A thrill of fear raced down Maurice's spine, for the disembodied laugh hardly sounded human. In a rush, the dream-like memory of the castle, garden, and mysterious laughing figure sprang fresh into his mind. He stood up quickly, but kept his head bowed. Reaching out, his hand met with cold, iron bars. He used them to keep himself from swaying off his feet.

"My lord," he called out. "I beg your pardon! My name is Maurice French. I am but a humble tradesman, and I meant you neither harm nor offence. Forgive me, good sir, for trespassing upon your estate and allow me to go about my way."

"Ah, ah, ah," sing-songed a voice in the dark. "Hardly seems customary to allow a prisoner leave merely because they stated their name and trade…"

The voice was as strangely pitched as the laugh had been; liltingly accented and chillingly jovial.

"If you really want to leave," the voice continued. "Why, all you have to do is say the magic word!"

Maurice blinked in the dark.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course, dearie," replied the voice, conversationally. "It's all rather common sense, I would think."

"Ah… well…" Maurice stammered, uncertainly. "P-please?"

There was a moment's pause, then a refreshed gale of terrible laughter.

" _Please_?!" repeated the voice between shill giggles. "That's not even  _remotely_  close to the proper word! Clearly you've had poor magical training!"

Maurice's hands gripped tightly to the bars. His captor was clearly toying with him. Just as he was about to rebuke the trick, a pair of golden eyes suddenly gleamed through the darkness.

"Perhaps I should teach you magic," the voice hissed, threateningly.

Maurice stumbled backwards onto the cold stone floor. He watched, in fear, as the gleaming eyes approached.

"Who are you?" Maurice whispered. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" the voice replied, dipping into a frightening growl. "I want to know how an old fool, like yourself, thought he was going to kill the master of the Dark Castle."

"The Dark Castle?!" Maurice cried in terrified awe. "B-but sir! I was merely lost in the woods! I could—that is, I would never dream of—!"

"As for who I am…" the voice continued, ignoring the old man's cries. "If you can tell me my name in three guesses, I will let you go. Deal?"

The old man trembled; at last, he knew who he was speaking to. Stories about the Dealmaker had been circulating for centuries, though he had always believed them to be nothing but that—stories; tales meant to frighten children on winter nights.

Dizzy from fear and weakness, Maurice nodded mutely. He could hardly escape the clutches of such a person. What choice did he have but to appease his captor and play his games?

"I'll take that as your agreement!" the voice cried out, joyfully. "What is your first guess?"

"You are the Trickster," Maurice replied, fairly confident.

"Ding! Wrong!" said the voice, happily. The glowing eyes widened with mirth. "Does that even sound like a name to you?"

"I… uh… suppose not," Maurice said before letting out a violent cough and, struggling, tried to compose himself. Leaning back against the stone walls, he ran his weathered hands across his face and wiped away beads of cold sweat.

"You are…" Maurice began again, less certain. "Ah… y-you are… the Dark One."

"Ding! Ding! Wrong again!" the voice replied. "These are all titles, lad. I wanted to hear my name. I'll even give you a hint—it's a doozy of a name!" He chuckled briefly at his own joke. "Now, come on, one last chance…" The voice trailed off with a menacing hiss.

Fearfully, Maurice struggled to come up with an answer, but could find none. He cursed his fuddled brain and horrible memory. His Belle would know. She had read every blasted story ever written; she would know this beast's name, easily.

The thought of Belle caused tears to cloud his eyes. He knew he could never guess the name of his captor, but he could guess the consequences for failing. What if he never saw his precious girl again? She would be completely alone in the world. No, he assured himself, she would have the house, and she would be safe. She was young, intelligent, and at a marrying age. She would be alright.

"Well?" asked the voice, impatiently.

Maurice wiped away his tears and let out a resigned sigh. Looking up into the reflecting, golden eyes, he gave a faint smile.

"Bob?" he supplied, in a dead-pan voice.

There was no response for a moment, but the gleaming eyes seemed to close. Then a guffaw of laughter burst forth, merry and genuine. Maurice, in the insanity of the moment, laughed along in the darkness.

"Bob?!" cried the voice, incredulously.

A spark of light blinded Maurice, cutting off his laughter, but increasing that of his captor's. When his eyes adjusted to the light, the old man cried out in alarm. Flames without torches grew out of the tops of the stone pillars that lined the dungeon. Looking to his right and left, Maurice realized he was inside a metal cell, in between two others. In his neighboring cells, lay putrid skeletons from centuries long forgotten. The cold stone floor was covered in moldy straw, dirt, and maggots. Black manacles and chains lined the walls, and in the center of the chamber floor was a dull copper stain, the remnants of old blood that had been spilt.

Most frightening of all was the figure that stood outside the bars of his cell. The Dark One, the Imp, the Trickster—he was standing before him, still laughing. Inhuman hands of reptilian skin with blackened fingertips held onto the metal bars of the cell. Enlarged, malicious eyes of gold bore into Maurice's soul. A wicked grin revealed his mischievous intent and sharpened, yellow teeth.

"I'm afraid that's wrong, dearie dear," he said in a friendly voice. Maurice's eyes grew wide as the creature stepped through the bars as though they were not even there. With nowhere to hide, the old man pressed his back into the stone wall, hoping that somehow, he too could materialize through the cell. Silently, the Dark One bent before him and peered into his eyes.

"Well," he remarked. "Nothing to say?"

Maurice could only stare at the bizarre creature before him.

With a bored shrug, the Dark One stood up again. Then, with a flick of his hand, he vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, snuffing out the torchless fires as he left. The glow of his eyes were the last light Maurice saw before, they too, were replaced with inky darkness. The old man screamed out, "Wait!" but only silence answered him.

Maurice had been left alone in the dark, to rot.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young woman goes searching for her missing father, only to find him in the clutches of a magical and frightening beast. At what lengths will she go for love? It is a tale as old as time, itself. Once Upon a Time (AU)

It was a day's journey to the neighboring port-city of Greyrock. Belle had traveled through the night and arrived sometime in the following late morning. The sun was peeking dimly through the thick clouds when she arrived. As she rode past the crowds, all the townsfolk and fisherman seemed to be talking about was the weather. The cobbled streets were already lined with dirty slush. The last thing anyone wanted was more snow.

Belle made directly for the docks. If anyone was to know where her father was located, it would be the crew of the trade-ship,  _The Gold Seeker_. Many years ago, when they lived in her home country of Avonlea, her father had been the inheritor of a trade company. Mostly they exchanged with tradesmen in Agrabah; silver and fine goods for cinnamon, curry, and black pepper. They were prosperous in that business, until a violent storm lost their ships and livelihood. Belle and her father became nearly destitute overnight.

However, one ship,  _The_   _Gold Seeker_ , remained unaccounted for. For years, Maurice held onto the belief that  _The Gold Seeker_ would be found, and would someday make port once again. It had seemed as though his faith had paid off, for some months prior they received word that the ship had finally come home.

Apparently, it too had been damaged by the storm, but had been able to land on a small, uninhabited island. The battered crew had spent the next year using resources from the island to repair the ship enough to take it to the nearest city. They remained there for a few years, using the remaining spices as currency to keep the crew together and to repair the ship.

When they finally returned to Avonlea, they were dismayed to find their employer missing. After some months of investigation, they finally tracked him to the small village near Greyrock. The ship's captain, Liam Jones, had personally written to Maurice about their trials and encouraged the old man to meet them in the port-city within a week's time. Her father had been so overjoyed at the news that he left very early in the morning the day before their arrival.

That had been six days ago. Belle knew her father had not planned to stay longer than a night. She trusted the crew of  _The Gold Seeker_ , for she remembered them from her youth. Her main worry was that some other misfortune had befallen them, keeping her father away for longer. Yet, if that had been the case, her father would've written to her. Something wasn't right.

As she approached the docks, she dismounted and led Phillipe to a fence to tie him. Confident that he would not wander off, she made her way down a long pier lined with merchant ships. At the very end was the vessel she sought. It was easy to find, for at the bow of the ship was a carved, wooden angel bearing the likeness of her mother.

"Belle!" a masculine voice cried out to her.

Before she could respond, she was swept up into a pair of strong arms and twirled about. Surprised, she gave out a small, alarmed cry. The man set her down, and it took her a moment to recognize his face.

"Killian?" she asked, realization dawning on her face.

"Aye, love," he replied, grinning giddily.

With a laugh, she jumped up and embraced him.

"Killian! My God! Killian—you're alive!" she cried out joyfully. "Look at you! You're so old! My God! You're humongous!"

"Oy," he said with mock indignation. "I think you mean to say, 'Oh, Killian! You've grown into such a handsome rogue' or something along those lines…"

She chuckled and hugged him again.

"Gods! I'm so glad to see you, my old friend," she confessed. "We thought you were dead... we… we mourned for you…"

"I'm much too stubborn to be killed," he said, gently. "No need to mourn on my account. I had a lovely time stuck on a tropical island. I… ah… I'm only sorry the rest of the fleet was not so lucky…"

He looked away from her up to the ship to wave down another crewman, but not before Belle caught the reserved pain in his dark eyes. It was clear that he had gone through more hardships than he let on, and from his comment, she wondered if he felt guilt that he had survived it. The thought wrenched her heart.

He had indeed grown up, and the thought brought her a strange kind of sadness. It was as though something had been taken from him and lost, leaving behind a different person. It was true that he had undeniably grown into a handsome, tall man, yet, his body was like one who had been rescued from suffering and starvation.

The last time they had met each other, they had been silly, awkward sixteen-year-olds. Killian had been shorter than her, with shaggy, black hair that could not be tamed, and a crooked smile that the city girls went mad for. They had spent every summer swimming in the sea, growing tan, and playing pranks on the crew. At night, he'd visit her father's house and she would read to them. He confided his dreams of becoming a captain, like his brother, to her. Though he never said it, Belle had often wondered if he had loved her.

The man she looked upon now resembled little of the carefree boy she had known. She wondered to herself if anything in her resembled the girl she had been.

The man Killian had been waving down was his brother, Capt. Liam Jones. As he approached, he opened his arms for Belle to embrace him. She ran to his arms without hesitation.

"Miss Belle," he remarked, happily. "I am glad to see you, child. What a beautiful woman you've become!"

She said nothing for a moment, but kept her face pressed into his chest, breathing deeply.

"Nonsense, captain," she said, leaning back from him wiping away a tear. "You must be going blind in your old age."

He chuckled at her teasing—she and Killian had always teased him for his age. When last he saw her, he had been in his thirties and oddly sensitive about it. Old age seemed such a foolish fear to him now. He was lucky to have lived so long.

Smoothing the hair back from her face, he tenderly cupped her cheek, and smiled at her.

"Ah, Belle," he said. "You've always been a spark of light in a sea of darkness. I'm happy you are here, but… where is your father? It's dangerous for a young lady to travel alone, these days."

Belle's smile fell. "You mean," she began slowly. "He isn't with you?"

"No," Capt. Liam replied. "He left us three days ago."

Belle's eyes widened and she stepped out of Liam's embrace. The two brothers looked at her with confusion and concern. Casting her gaze downward, she bit her thumbnail in thought.

"Did he leave with the horse he rode upon?" she asked.

"No," Killian supplied. "Your horse, Tristan, cracked a shoe. Your father went to a smith to have it replaced. They saddled him with a loaner and promised to bring Tristan to your home in five days' time."

She nodded, her eyebrows furrowing. "So he was on an unfamiliar horse," she said, aloud. "Did he leave in the morning or evening?"

"Evening," said Killian. "We asked him to stay longer, but I think he was eager to be back. He mentioned bringing you on our next visit, so we could all catch up again. The weather was fair, so he believed it to be no danger."

"Belle," Capt. Liam interrupted. "What is the matter? Did Mr. French not make it home?"

"No, he did not," she said with a sigh. "And I think I know why. It may have been good weather that night here in the city, but if he took the mountain-route, he would have been met by a snowstorm."

"By the Gods!" Killian exclaimed. "We must look for him at once!"

"No," Belle said, curtly. "I will look for him. I know my father already gave you orders to return to Avonlea and hire a fresh crew. Your men have been through enough, and you must leave the harbor before the ice sets in. From the look of the clouds, I would say you don't have much time for search parties."

"Belle, don't be foolish," Killian began.

"How am I being foolish?" she interrupted. "I am the only one with a horse. I am also the only one with some knowledge of the area."

"The mountain is enormous," Killian returned, hotly. "How will you cover so much ground without getting lost?"

"There's a kennel in this city," she replied. "I'll hire a hound and tracker. Killian, I will cover more ground efficiently if I use intelligence and resources, rather than acting emotionally."

Killian threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "Resources be damned—it's dangerous, Belle!" he shouted.

Liam, remained silent, studying Belle's features. Before she could respond to Killian's outburst, Liam reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pouch, and handed it over to her.

"Silver," he said. "Enough to get you a decent tracker. Don't let them cheat you. You'll want someone with experience, not a boy with a pup."

"Brother, you can't be serious?!" Killian cried.

"Find your father and send us word when you are both safe," he told her, ignoring Killian. "We owe you much more than a small bag of silver, and it would grieve us if you were lost."

Belle began to protest, thrusting the purse back to him, but he caught her hands and closed his own about hers. Looking at their entwined hands, then back to his face, she nodded, solemnly.

"I promise," she said.

* * *

 

It was mid-afternoon before she and her hired tracker set out on their search. Her tracker ended up being a grumpy dwarf who refused to give her a name, but who came with surprisingly good credentials and recommendations. He spoke very little, and mostly responded to her in grunts.

His dog, a hound named Copper, found Maurice's scent rather quickly. The three of them were soon racing through the forested mountain.

The people of Greyrock referred to the mountain as  _Old Rock_ , and usually went out of their way to travel around it. Though the mountain route was considerably quicker, stories of spirits and beasts kept the superstitious townsfolk away. There was also a strange aura that seemed to permeate from its slopes. Any skeptic who traveled upon it would later remark that they had felt a desperate urge to leave; a feeling they could not explain.

Belle did not feel the desire to leave. All she could feel was her need to find her father.

The path grew steeper and narrower with each mile. Thick, dead trees grew in stifling closeness about them. Copper remained on the road for quite a while. After three hours of endless plodding, the hound finally gave a loud howl and began to run.

"He's found something!" the dwarf yelled at her from his horse. "Hurry up!"

Belle urged Phillipe on and they raced after the dog. Suddenly, they came across a mass lying in the road. Copper barked and whined when he approached. It was a dead horse; chunks of its flesh were ripped from its side and scattered about the path.

"Ehh," the dwarf said to her, awkwardly. "Best not look at it, lady."

Her eyes widened. She shook her head and forced herself not to vomit at the sight. "Tell me, what has happened here!" she demanded.

The dwarf got off of his horse and approached the carcass.

"Wolves," he said, after a moment's inspection.

Belle's heart caught in her throat. When the dwarf gave no further explanation, it took all her willpower to keep from screaming at him.

"What about my father?" she asked, as calmly as she could.

"Alive," the dwarf grunted. "Though it seems like he ran from the path."

Belle released a slow, relieved breath. Pressing her hands to her eyes, she lowered her head to gather her wits.

"You alright, little sister?" the dwarf asked, sounding surprisingly gentle.

"Yes," she replied, lifting her head back up and pushing her hair back from her face. "Let's continue."

They turned towards the crowded wood, off the main path, and followed after Copper.

The deer path seemed to go on forever. It ran directly west, heading for the mountain's peak. After traveling for hours, the slope became so steep and the way so narrow, that the horses refused to go further unless led by the hand.

Still, Copper kept on.

By midnight, a light snow began to fall and the dwarf remarked that they needed to stop for the night. However, Belle refused. Though she had not slept for an entire night and day, she could not stop until she knew her father's fate.

Grudgingly, the dwarf conceded. He could go for days without sleep and it did not bother him. It was clear, however, that he was growing concerned for his dainty employer.

At last, Copper whined and stopped.

"Copper?" the dwarf called out, puzzled. The dog did not move, but whined softly. He stood at what seemed to be the edge of the forest, for they could see the reflection of the moon from the clearing ahead. The dwarf hurried up to his side.

"Why does he not go any further?" Belle asked, as she approached.

"I don't—" the dwarf began, but was rendered speechless. Belle walked up beside him and gasped at the sight.

A great castle sat in the clearing. The snow, reflecting the moon's light, created an eerie glow about it. A great wall of marble and vines surrounded it, and a tall, black gate stood at its entrance. Copper whined and, with his tail tucked beneath his legs, backed away from the clearing. Belle, on the other hand, stepped forward.

"What are you doing?!" the dwarf hissed.

"My father must be in there," she replied softly. "I am going to find him."

"Then you're going in there without us," he said with a shudder. "This place… something doesn't feel right… we shouldn't be here." He looked at the castle, then back to her.

"Come on, lady," he called out, softly. "Let's go back. Even if your father  _is_  in there, I don't think you'll like what you'll find."

She turned and tossed him the bag of silver, her curled hair whirling about her moonlit face. He caught it, mouth slack with surprise.

"Thank you for your help and concern, my friend," she said, offering him a tired smile. "I wouldn't have gotten this far without you. Go back to the city, and take care."

Grabbing Phillipe's reigns, she turned and headed for the gate, leaving the awed dwarf behind.

"But—" he began to call out, but stopped himself. With a growl, he grabbed the reigns of his horse and turned them about. Copper followed beside him, still crying softly. As they began down the path into the crowded forest, the dwarf stole one final glance over his shoulder at the girl.

"Good luck, sister," he mumbled and hurried away.

* * *

The courtyard was empty. Dead bushes and withered plants lined a cold, marbled pathway. Snow, covering the ground, lay untouched. If her father had passed through these gates, he would have left footprints. It had not snowed since his disappearance, so where were his tracks? Belle's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Phillipe was tied to the metal gate, and was pawing nervously as he watched his master journey onward. As Belle walked further down the marble path, she passed a fountain made of pink granite. She eyed the spout of water that had been frozen mid-motion. Clearly the water pumps of this estate were still in working order, which meant someone still lived there.

The path eventually led to a pair of great wooden doors. Belle stood before them, considering whether she should knock or not. In the end, she pulled her cloak about herself tightly, as if physically gathering courage. With a calming breath, she pulled the great handle of the door and silently slipped inside.

The main hall she entered was extravagant, enormous, and devoid of life. She stood before polished wood floors, painted ceilings, and walls of tapestries. To her right, tall windows, which reached from the floor to the lofty ceiling, were covered in rich, red velvet curtains. Dim candles lined wooden panels on every wall, both lighting the large room, and making it seem smaller and more intimate. A great wooden table, large enough to seat twenty guests comfortably, lay in the very center of it all.

However, the most peculiar object she found was, in a corner, at the far end of the great hall.

It was a peasant's spinning wheel.

It was well-used wheel, with a seat large enough to be shared by both a master and an apprentice. Compared to all the finery of the room, Belle felt oddly comforted at the sight of it. While everything else about the castle seemed to have an almost dream-like quality, the spinning wheel felt real and tangible. Yet, why was such an object there in the first place? She was missing the key element in this mystery.

Taking and lighting a candelabra she found sitting on the grand table, she debated her next move. To her left was another set of tall doors. Directly in front of her were two great staircases, which curved from the left and right side, and met in the middle. In between the base of the stairs, there was a smaller door, like a servant's entrance. She paced from one side of the room to the other, hesitating in her choice.

A sound, like a cough, drifted from the small servant's door as she passed before it.

At first, Belle wasn't sure she heard anything. The sound had been so faint. She pressed her ear to the door and the sound of coughing returned, quiet but certain. Without hesitation, she pulled the heavy door open and rushed inside.

She was met by solid stone walls and a winding, stone staircase leading into a pit of darkness. She shuddered, involuntarily. Clutching her candelabra high, she made her way downwards.

Down, down, down; as if into the very center of the hell, itself.

When the staircase came to an end, she was surprised to find it had led her to nothing but a small room surrounding a storage hatch on the floor. Lifting the hatch, she was greeted by a faint cry of alarm. Descending quickly down another short flight of stairs, she was met with a horrible image.

Her father lay in a cell of metal, surrounded by dirt, straw, and vomit. He was trembling and covered in sweat. His breath came out in gasps, occasionally interrupted by wet, weak coughs.

"Papa!" she called out to him. He looked around the room, as if in a daze, and squinted painfully at the light.

"Belle," he whispered. "Belle?"

Rushing and stumbling to her knees, she knelt before the cage and held her father's hand. His skin felt cold and clammy. He could not seem to muster the strength to sit up.

"Oh Papa!" she cried, gulping back a sob. "What has happened?! We have to get you out!"

"Belle, Belle," he whimpered, clinging to her hand. "Why are you here? Oh, my sweet girl, why have you come here?!"

"Papa, I've come to take you home," she said, firmly. "It's going to be alright. I'm going to take care of you."

Setting down her candelabra, she searched the dungeon for keys, a weapon—anything of use. Maurice kept mumbling and crying words of nonsense.

"The Imp will get you, child!" he was saying. "Leave this place! Please, my love! Leave me! Don't let him catch you!"

Belle returned to her father's door, carrying a human leg bone she had found in his neighbor's cell. With all her strength, she began to beat the lock on the door with it, trying to free him.

Suddenly, a gust of wind pushed her against her father's cage, slamming the hatch-door shut, and snuffing out the light of her candle. Total darkness fell about them, and Belle whirled about to face it.

"He's here," whimpered the voice her father. "He's here!"

As if on cue, a strange high-pitched laugh emerged from, seemingly, nowhere.

"Who is there?" she demanded, sounding braver than she felt. "Who are you?"

"Why, I'm the master of this castle, of course," tittered the disembodied, cheery voice. "But enough about me! Tell me, lady, who are  _you_?"

"I've come for my father," she stated plainly. "Please let him out—can't you see that he's sick?!"

The voice hesitated, as though not expecting so severe and blunt an answer.

"So he is," said the voice, lowering its pitch to that of a snarl. "He should not have trespassed…"

"Is that reason enough to imprison a sick man in the dark without food or water?!" she retorted, angrily. "He could die!"

"And why should I mind that?" the voice replied. "I gave him plenty'a chance to earn his freedom when he first arrived."

Belle trembled and gripped the bars of her father's cage.

"Please," she said, her voice quivering. "Please let him go. I will do anything, please."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," was the reply. "The deal is struck and cannot be undone. In fact! For trespassing the Dark Castle, I should imprison you with him!" He giggled cruelly. "At least then you'll be together, ay dearie?"

"Dark One," Maurice croaked. "Allow my daughter the chance to leave… she is young… have mercy…"

"Ah, but you see, there's much more  _fun_  to be had with an imprisoned young lady," the voice said, huskily. Then, laughing, joyfully cried, "But! I'm afraid he's right. Fair's fair. If you can give me my name after three guesses, you're free to go, young lady. Do we have a deal?"

"No," Belle replied calmly.

"No?" both her father and the voice repeated, in confusion.

"I propose," she began, choosing her words carefully. "That if I can guess your name, you will allow me to take my father's place—to be your prisoner till the end of my days—under the condition that he would be returned home, unharmed."

Silence greeted her.

"You would take his place?" the voice asked, incredulously.

"Belle!" her father cried. "Don't throw your life away! I'm old… and you have still so much to live for!"

Ignoring her father, she said into the darkness, "I would if you adhere to my terms. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," replied the voice. "But are _you_   absolutely sure, dearie dear?"

Belle paused, as if hesitating, then breathlessly asked, "May I look upon you first?"

A giddy laugh rang throughout the room.

"Why, of course," sang the voice. "But I'm afraid it will make you change your mind!"

Torch-less fires sparked at the tops of the dungeon's stone columns, and orange light flooded the room. Belle's eyes adjusted quickly and she gasped at the man who stood before her.

His skin was scaly and grey with flecks of gold woven throughout; an odd shade of brown hair curled dangerously on his head; his clothes were made of dragon's hide and leather; his eyes were unsettlingly large and the color of amber; his wide, crooked smile was lined with predator-like teeth.

"Well, dearie?" he said, approaching her slowly and allowing her to look at him carefully.

Belle looked up at him triumphantly, causing his smile to falter. With complete confidence she calmly replied, "We have a deal,  _Rumpelstiltskin_."


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young woman goes searching for her missing father, only to find him in the clutches of a magical and frightening beast. At what lengths will she go for love? It is a tale as old as time, itself. Once Upon a Time (AU)

Maurice could only watch in horror as his daughter spoke a name; a strange name fit for a strange man.

Belle's back was pressed against his prison. One of her hands was gripping the metal bars, while the other still held onto the leg bone. Looking past her, the old man could see the creature's face shift from a look of disbelief to one of frightening sternness. In the dim light, it made his appearance seem even more terrible. Though he could not see his daughter's expression, he heard her breath catch in her throat.

Walking forward, the Dark One approached his daughter with the movements of a cat stalking its prey; slow and still.

"Stay away from her!" Maurice called out with what little strength he had.

Rumpelstiltskin turned to him with a look of disdain in his eyes. He waved a hand at the old man, as if to dismiss him. Purple smoke and lightning surrounded Maurice, but before he could cry out in alarm, he was in his room at home.

The cell, the dungeon, the castle, and the monster were gone.

And so was Belle.

* * *

The cell door swung open behind her, causing her to fall backwards onto the dirty prison floor. Wincing in pain, she looked about her, wildly. She was alone in the cell, save for her captor standing in the barred doorway. The figure of Rumpelstiltskin loomed in front of her, his back to the light and his face in shadow.

“Where is he?!” she all but shouted at him. “What have you done to my father?!”

“Exactly what you asked me to do to him, you screaming banshee,” the frightening man explained. “He has been returned home, safe, and unharmed.”

A well of exhaustion and emotion sprang up in Belle, and she was suddenly overwhelmed. She had been pushing herself to the limits for the sake of her beloved father. Now that he was safe, her confidence faltered. Hugging her arms about her legs, she began to cry. Rumpelstiltskin laughed cruelly at her tears, his eyes alight with malicious glee.

“What’s this?” he mocked. “Regret? _Fear_?”

He took a step forward into the cell, fully intending to torment his new prisoner further.

She did not see his threatening approach. Burrowing her face in her arms, she sobbed freely.

“Y-you didn’t let me say goodbye,” she wept. “My father… my father! I’ll _never_ see him again… and you didn’t even let me say goodbye…!”

Rumpelstiltskin's wicked smile fell. He stopped his advance, blinked his large eyes, and shook his head ever-so-slightly. Her words seemed to stir an ancient memory or emotion within him, and it caused him to hesitate. Silently, uncertainly, he took a few steps back and simply watched her cry.

Belle, heedless, continue to weep into her arms. When she finally looked up, she saw that her cell was empty, the door closed and locked, and a single flame burning on the wall.

Rumpelstiltskin was nowhere to be seen.

Grateful that at least she hadn’t been left in the dark, she curled into a ball and fell into a dreamless, worried sleep.

* * *

How long she slept, she could not tell; it could have been hours, or it could have been days. At long last, Belle roused herself from fitful slumber. Standing up, she tested the doors and found them impossible to open. With a sigh, she leaned back against the bars and sat upon the filthy floor.

The dungeon had no windows and only one door. Nothing moved or lived down there, except for her and the maggots in the hay. The stillness was almost eerie. The only way she could tell the passage of time was her hunger.

She had eaten so little in her worried search for her father; who knew how many days she had been in this cell? She slept and woke at random. Each time she woke, she was faced with her personal purgatory and the painful pang of hunger. She tried pacing the cell, but with time, she became too weak to stand.

She was going to die if she didn’t do something. She tried eating the cleaner bits of straw that was strewn about her, but it only made her sick. The lack of water made her head ache and her heart flutter with fear.

“Come on Belle,” she said, weakly, to herself. “Think, girl.”

The story of Rumpelstiltskin had always been a favorite of hers when she was young. A mysterious, all-powerful magician who could grant the wishes of the desperate. The storybooks had said he could change shape but that he often appeared as a man made of alligator skin, with eyes of gold, and magic in his very breath. To those who came to him, willing to pay his price, they would have their wish fulfilled; but woe to those who would not pay! She had been able to recognize him immediately.

She had always loved the idea that you could change your path in life, if only you were brave enough to know what you wanted, and if you were willing to give up all that you knew for it. When she was young, she often wished to herself that such a magical creature did exist, and that she could change her own story. She would leave her father and friends behind, and she would travel the world learning everything, falling in love, and having adventures. That way, she wouldn’t just have to become a rich man’s wife and waste away into quiet obscurity.

“How ironic,” Belle sighed. “I wanted to grow up and call upon Rumpelstiltskin and have an adventure. Now… when I finally meet him… I… I really will just waste away…”

Her breath hitched as an idea, bright and fast, suddenly burst in her head.

“ _Call upon him_!” she said aloud. “The stories used to say that he appears when his name is chanted three times!”

Standing, she held herself up using the bars of the cell. She swayed a little, but her tight grip kept her from falling.

“Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered.

Nothing happened.

“ _Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin_ ,” she said a little louder.

Still, nothing.

Frantic and afraid, Belle began to say his name over and over, without ceasing. Tears began to stream down her face, as it quickly became clear he wasn’t coming. Still she chanted his name, for she knew if he didn’t appear, she would be dead.

She felt her knees wobble, and she slumped back down onto the floor, still chanting his name in pitiful sobs.

Suddenly, a flash of light and purple smoke materialized in front of her. The very magician she was calling for stood before her, shiny and scaly and in a bit of a rage. Belle’s eyes widened in both fear and amazement.

“Do you think you could stop saying my name?!” he bellowed at her. “Your endless cryin’ is making it very difficult to think!”

“I’m going to die…” she whimpered out.

“Yes, I’m aware, but can you do it a little more _quietly_?” he replied with a grin and an embellished wave of his hand. “And perhaps refrain from calling out my name. I can hear you every time, you know.”

“Y-yes,” she said, trying to sort out her words. “I know. That’s why I did it.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rumpelstiltskin walked over to the cell door and peered down upon her. Weak and frightened, Belle found his gaze made it hard to breathe.

“P-please…” she said, breathlessly. “What… what good am I to you dead?”

“What good are you to me _alive_?” he returned.

“You already have me as your prisoner forever,” she began. “Why not use the remainder of my life… f-for your… eh… purposes?”

“What are you saying?” he sneered.

“I want to change our deal,” she said, trying to sit herself up more. “In exchange for food and reasonable lodging, I will not just be your prisoner forever… but… also… your servant.”

“And what would I need one of those for?” he asked, looking away and sounding bored.

“Well, I-I can cook and sew and read several languages,” she replied, feeling desperate and awkward at this strange and impromptu job interview. “I know that your castle is… eh… old… and it appeared in need of cleaning. I can do that. If you need me to spy or fetch things for you, I can do that. And… uhm… well, I make a good pot of tea… and… and... I’m quite good with numbers and sums…”

“Enough,” the magician said, chuckling. “I hate to tell you this, dearie, but magic can pretty much do all of that.”

“Yes… of-of course, b-but surely you don’t want to waste your magic on such trivial things,” she argued. “A-and you can’t talk to magic, right? At the very least, I c-could keep you company.”

He cackled loudly at that.

“Company, you say?” he repeated, bending down and allowing her to see his strange face more clearly. “Would you really like to keep _my_ company?”

It was hunger and frustration that made her snap back, her voice shill, “Well, it is slightly better than dying of starvation!” Her eyes widened fearfully at her admission, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. To her relief, however, her sarcastic remark pleased her captor, for he laughed and opened the cell door.

“Very well, I shall give you provisions and a room to sleep in,” he said, pointing a finger at her face. “In exchange, I will give you a list of chores you are to do, every day. And you must also join me whenever I dine, to share your… _company_ … with me. Do we have a deal?”

He extended his hand to her sprawled form on the cell floor. As she went to reach for it, he pulled it back and said in an odd voice, “It’s _forever_ , dearie. Death might not be so long.”

She blinked at him. He was covered in shadow from the light shining behind his back, but she could see the gleam of his large, golden eyes. She trembled, fearfully, but said, as bravely as she could, “No, I will go with you.”

She took his hand, and he pulled her to himself with a surprising amount of strength. She was quickly covered in his shadow and wrapped in a swath of purple clouds. She began to faint in his arms as she heard him say softly, “The deal is struck.”

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young woman goes searching for her missing father, only to find him in the clutches of a magical and frightening beast. At what lengths will she go for love? It is a tale as old as time, itself. Once Upon a Time (AU)

She felt soft, weightless, and fragile.

It was a shocking, unfamiliar sensation. It made his skin crawl and his brain itch. He nearly dropped her when they reappeared in one of the nicer servant rooms of the castle. Disturbed by his reaction to touching her, he hastily lay her out on the bed and left as quickly as he could. 

 _Why was he doing this again?_  He could—no— he _should_ have just let her die. It would've been less of hassle, wouldn’t it? She had trespassed, and so her life was forfeit anyways. He could've just killed her. That certainly would have stopped her crying and calling out his name.

Instead, her life more-or-less belonged to him now, and he wasn’t prone to throwing his  _things_  away; especially if they had the potential to be of use to him. At the very least, she would be entertaining for however long she lasted.

Not to mention, she was... peculiar. Instinctively, he sensed deep down that she had some significance, and yet, his foresight into the future stayed oddly blank when he tried to discover it. He couldn’t  _see_  her, and that didn't happen often. Whether she had her own magic about her obscuring his view, or if the magical nature about her destiny prevented him, he could not tell what her future held. It was a wash of blurry light. It was curious.

He pondered this riddle for a few minutes. Then, with a start, he shook himself out of the reverie. He had more important things to do than fret over an irritating servant girl.

Frowning, he stormed up the dark staircase leading up towards the tallest tower of the castle.

* * *

 

Belle awoke slowly, as one coming out of a long dream. Bright, beautiful light was streaming in through a large bay window beside her bed. 

She sat up, weakly, and looked around. Looking out the window, she could see the tops of snowy pine trees and mountain peaks in the distance. It was a beautiful view. The bed she lay upon was a large, canopy bed. The sheets were a velvety shade of blue and matched the drapes that hung from her bedside window. The floor was made of wood, and even though it was dusty, it was exquisite. A tall chest of drawers stood on the opposite side of the bed with a simple oil lamp perched upon it. A copper bathtub and grey silk screen sat directly in front of the bed. The walls were an eggshell white; plain, without any art or decoration. 

Altogether, the room wasn't impressive by any means, but it felt wonderfully comforting to Belle. It was small, cozy, and mostly clean. More importantly, it was  _hers_.

She had traded her life for it…

Falling back upon her pillow, she sighed. She had made yet another deal with the Dark One. Not only was she his prisoner, now, she was his employee. Or slave. Who could tell what he had planned for her? Cold panic from the bottom of her spine crawled up her back. 

"What have I done?" she said to herself. 

Trying to take calming breaths, she pulled the sheets up over her head. She wrapped her hands around herself and rubbed her arms as if to warm them. She breathed in. She breathed out.

"Okay," she said, quietly. "Crying won't help. Right now, I need to find food."

Shakily, she pushed the covers off, got up from the bed, and held onto the side for support. Shuffling, she moved to touch the top of the chest of drawers, when she noticed a piece of parchment beneath the oil lamp. Had it been there before? Hesitating, she reached for it and read its contents: 

 

_You are to wash all the dishes in the kitchen before sunset._

_I will know if you fail to do so._

_Daily instructions will appear on this parchment, so do not throw it out._

_I will summon you if your company is required this evening._

 

Belle let out a pent-up breath. She could do this.

Leaving the letter where it sat, she slowly made her way out the wooden bedroom door. It led to a long hallway which sported, at least, a dozen doors. Fortunately, her room appeared to be just to the right of a winding staircase. Cautiously taking the stairs down, she eventually reached a large balcony. It was wrapping around the great hall she had seen when she first arrived. Taking one of the flights of stairs down, she was startled to see that the door which had led to the dungeons, was gone. It had been replaced by a trophy case made of glass and built into the wall. It held many strange vials and bottles. She shuddered, her brain reeling horribly at the idea of an entire room disappearing overnight. 

"Magic," she said, in awe. 

Taking a step back, she turned her gaze away, and once again saw the spinning wheel. Shaking her head in confusion, she quickly left the strange room and ran for the large doors opposite of the spinning wheel. She had originally guessed they led to the kitchen, and she was relieved to find she wasn't wrong.

However, her relief was short-lived. Every cabinet, table-top, nook, and corner was lined and stacked with dirty dishes. There were so many, they almost took up the whole space.

Her heart sank.

Tip-toeing her way around the piles of pots, pans, dishes, and bowls, she looked for a pantry. It took a bit of searching, and she only found it after moving a lot of unnecessary clutter out of the way. It was a small, stone, closet-sized pantry at the far end of the incredibly messy kitchen, just beside a lattice-windowed door leading outside. It felt magically cool when she entered into it, and she was delighted to find a good store of fruits, vegetables, and meats. There was even bread, cheese, and butter!

Grabbing large loaf of brown bread and white cheese, she had to stop herself from wolfing it down. She had not drunk or eaten anything in days and she feared if she was too hasty it would just come back up again. Tears welled up in her eyes at the taste of it, and with great reluctance, she refrained from eating more than three slices of bread. Washing it down with a cup of milk, she turned to the task at hand.

It was slow going. She was still weak, and every few minutes she stopped to drink water or milk to cure her dehydration. Eventually her seemingly endless headache dulled, and she was able to think a little more rationally and calmly. 

Hours ticked by as she gradually cleaned every dirty item in the kitchen. She was still amazed by the sheer number of filthy dishes she had to go through. "It's almost as if," she thought to herself. "Instead of washing a dish when he needs it, he just gets another one. Or... magics himself a  _new_  dish, I suppose."

The thought of Rumpelstiltskin reminded her of his warning on the letter. With a shudder, she quickened her pace and hoped she would finish before the sun set.

* * *

 

When the pinkish-orange light of the sun set gently down upon the snowy crests of the mountain, Belle was drying the last plate. As she put it away, she looked around the kitchen, worriedly. After a few seconds of tense silence, she let out a sigh of relief.

Rumpelstiltskin had not appeared. She had believed he would suddenly materialize when the sun set to check to make sure she had completed her task. However, it seemed that would not be the case.

Now that the kitchen had been cleaned, she marveled at how beautiful and warm it was. Rich, oak cabinets and cupboards lined the walls, and a small round table sat directly in the middle of the room. A handsome black and gold oven, and a large white sink sat below a wide window. Vines had grown along the edges of the window, and for some reason it made the kitchen look even more charming.

A small fireplace was situated in the corner of the room, and Belle had lit a cheery fire in the hearth. She was glad her employer had not appeared. For the first time in many days, she felt a little more normal.  

As her tired eyes surveyed the now-clean kitchen, she spotted a teacup sitting on wooden counter beside the kitchen doors. It was clean, but she had forgotten to put it up in the cupboard. She had just picked it up to examine it, when the man she feared emerged from the kitchen doorway behind her; his footsteps light and quiet.

“Well then! Finished yet, dearie?!” he asked in a loud, mocking voice, when she failed to notice his presence.

At the sound of his voice, Belle let out a terrified gasp, lost her grip, and the teacup fell from her hands. Though it only took a few seconds to hit the ground, she felt as though she were watching it in dreadful slow-motion. As it hit the wooden floor with a sickening clink, Belle rushed to pick it up and hide the damage.

“A-ah…” she tried to speak, but her mouth ran dry. “I—I’m sorry. T-the cup… it’s… ah… chipped.”

Risking a glance at Rumpelstiltskin, she found his expression unreadable. He was leaning against the kitchen door-frame, arms crossed across his chest, staring intently at her.

Still crouched on the ground, she raised the cup for him to see. The porcelain cup had a large, unmistakable chip in the rim.

She trembled as he continued to say nothing. “Y-you can hardly see it…” she supplied.

Rumpelstiltskin’s brows knitted in puzzlement for a moment, then giving an odd dismissive shrug, said, “It’s only a cup.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting.

“R-right,” she breathed. Standing up slowly, she placed the cup back onto the counter.

“So!” her employer said, acting as though nothing had happened. “I see you actually did what you were told!” Lazily, he pushed himself off from the door-frame and paced the kitchen, inspecting the room. Twirling to face her, the corners of his mouth crinkled as he flashed her a toothy smile.

“Why, you even cleaned the cupboards and pantry,” he exclaimed. “Quite ambitious, quite ambitious, indeed!”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she merely nodded. Looking up, she saw that he was staring directly at her, and she could not help but stare back.

The red light of the sun made the golden flecks in his strange skin sparkle slightly. His wild hair curled about his wild face. His yellow, crooked teeth made his smile seem unbalanced. Still clad in dragon hide, his body seemed covered in thorns and scales. For a moment, all Belle could see was his strangeness, and it drained all the normality from the room, making her wonder if she was in a bizarre nightmare.

Then, his smile faltered. His eyes darted away from hers. His fingers fidgeted and lightly drummed on the table he was in front of. Belle blinked. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was feeling awkward or uncomfortable. It made her pause; frown. Because… to her recollection… monsters didn’t feel awkward… they didn't feel...

“Well then!” he said suddenly, before she could continue her thought. “Let’s test some of that _company_ of yours, shall we? Join me in the Great Hall for tea!”

Without another word, he walked swiftly out of the kitchen. Belle, shaken by their interaction and mentally preparing for the next, wavered before hurrying after him.


End file.
